Downfall
by PinkElephant42
Summary: After the Final Battle, Harry tries to escape, only to be brought back to a broken wizarding world.
1. I: Creation of the World

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR, and the garden of sin belongs to Bosch (though I'm relatively sure the latter is public domain, as it's 500 years old).

A/N: Originally written for the HP ficathon, 7/15.

Themes and titles taken from Hieronymus Bosch's tryptych. There's a link to the painting in my profile.

Thank you to HPalto87 for beta'ing!

**Downfall**

**I: Creation of the World**

Prompt: Sacrosanct

Storm clouds gathered on the horizon, obscuring the moon. The world flickered an inconsistent green, the only light now being cast from wands.

It was a hopeless mess of a situation. The final battle had begun before we were ready for it, and the Death Eaters had easily gained the upper hand. Brave allies kept showing up to help, only to find themselves as sacrifices to the cause.

Although, I wasn't even sure I believed in the cause anymore. Were these people, who would hate and discriminate against one another so much that it would escalate into such a war, actually worth saving? Half-bloods were just as bad as the pure-bloods, and in the end, none of it would matter. All blood looks the same on a discarded battlefield.

I watched my friends fall; exhausted, broken, dead. I pushed on. There was nothing I could do for them, and how many of them had actually been my friends in the first place? They liked my name, my scar. I was their hero, a savior, and I just happened to also be good at Quidditch. If it weren't for an event that I can't even remember, they wouldn't care about me one way or another.

Because my parents were killed, I was marked as an equal of the darkest wizard of our time, and I had to fight in this stupid war, face pure evil on several occasions, and compete in a tournament I wanted nothing to do with; and let's face it, all those incredible things I've done were just pure luck. When I was fifteen, fighting Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, I didn't know what I was doing any more than I did when I was eleven, holding the philosopher's stone.

So when we were attacked that night, I decided it would be the last time I would face Voldemort. We were outnumbered and had no plan of action, but I was confident that _I_ at least had the power (and the pent-up anger) to win; so we dived into the battle, even though many of our fighters weren't ready. It's not like we had much of a choice, anyway. We were surrounded from the start. It was either try to run, or try to fight; and running would most likely get us killed. Hermione tried to insist that it was worth a shot; I knew better.

And then we were fighting, and my so-called friends were falling, and I was trying to make my way to Voldemort.

This turned out to be surprisingly easy. It soon became apparent that the Death Eaters were afraid of attacking me directly, and resorted to attacking the people close to me instead. It wouldn't work. I had spent a lot of time distancing myself from those people, so I wouldn't be distracted from my goal. Inwardly, I smirked, silently congratulating myself on outsmarting all of them. All they saw, however, was a determined glare set upon war-hardened features.

I came face-to-face with the Dark Lord. He acknowledged me with a curt nod before raising his wand. I cast a quick Shield spell on myself, and his attack couldn't touch me. In the moment he took between spells, I cast mine: a powerful Killing Curse. The brightest greens on the battlefield that night were my curse and my eyes, for I had won.

As I lifted my face to the heavens, victorious and finally free, the rains began, washing away the blood, the remorse, and the pain of the past seventeen years of my life.


	2. II: The Earthly Paradise

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR, and the garden of sin belongs to Bosch (though I'm relatively sure the latter is public domain, as it's 500 years old).

A/N: Originally written for the HP ficathon, 7/15.

Themes and titles taken from Hieronymus Bosch's tryptych. There's a link to the painting in my profile.

Thank you to HPalto87 for beta'ing!

**Downfall**

**II: The Earthly Paradise**

Prompt 1: Garden

The war was over, and I was a hero to a world that I no longer wanted to be a part of. They showered me with praise and gifts, as if that would make up for the childhood, the _life_ that I lost. Luckily, I now had the chance to start over (as if I really needed any more luck- it had only gotten me into trouble thus far). I gave the required interviews, attended the proper memorials, and then quietly disappeared from the wizarding world.

The memorials were the worst. I sat with people who I didn't know or care about, but who seemed to care a great deal about me; I gave speeches I was unaware I was supposed to make until I was put on the spot; and I pretended to be saddened over lost lives that no longer meant anything to me.

But none of that mattered anymore.

I found a quiet refuge for myself, and tried to create a new life. For a while, it worked. I lived among Muggles, acted _normal_, and tried to forget everything about the war and magic. My parents and Sirius had left me enough money that I could spend my days simply enjoying myself. I lived simply and leisurely in a secluded place. I discovered a talent for painting, and created a makeshift studio in the back room of my flat, overlooking a placid lake.

And I began to forget. I became a solitary artist with a bad childhood; and nothing more.

For a long time, my paintings showed landscapes. I used the lake and forest on my property as reference, occasionally putting in small animals and birds as well. I gave most of them away to local Muggles, or charity auctions, under the name Harry Bosch.

Then, slowly, my landscapes changed. They became darker, more moody. The colors became more diluted. Instead of sun-drenched fields, I painted meadows shrouded in thick mist, and instead of the calm lake, I painted a stormy, tumultuous sea. Dark figures appeared in the shadows, followed by abstracted figures in the foreground, and, mysteriously, a white stag and a red-eyed serpent.

Then, green became the dominant color. Vivid and violent, it overtook my once serene canvases.


	3. III: Garden of Earthly Delights

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR, and the garden of sin belongs to Bosch (though I'm relatively sure the latter is public domain, as it's 500 years old).

A/N: Originally written for the HP ficathon, 7/15.

Themes and titles taken from Hieronymus Bosch's tryptych. There's a link to the painting in my profile.

Thank you to HPalto87 for beta'ing!

**Downfall**

**III: Garden of Earthly Delights**

Prompt: Angst

And one day, there was a knock on my door. I was greeted by cold gray eyes, a shock of white-blonde hair, and a smirk.

"Potter," he greeted.

Potter? The name tugged at the veins of recognition in my mind, but I got no clear picture.

"You've got the wrong place," I said.

I moved to close the door, but he waved a stick, and I couldn't. He stepped uninvited into my home, and scowled as he looked around. I was growing irritated. Who was this man into walk my house as if he knew me, as if his words and names would mean anything to me? It was obvious to me (though I couldn't tell you why) that he didn't belong there; and so I told him as much.

He then had the audacity to laugh at me. "Don't act as if you don't know me," he said.

"I _don't_ know you," I insisted.

He smirked, and I got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach when he did. It was almost... familiar.

He moved close to me, and lifted a hand to touch my face. I tried to flinch away, but he grabbed my hair, pushing my fringe back. He touched the scar on my forehead; the one I've had my whole life. He gave me an odd look.

"I was told you may be uncooperative, but I didn't expect this. Don't you even know who you are?" He frowned.

"I'm an artist," I said. I gestured to the room around me, where paintings leaned drying against the walls, tubes of color laid about, spilling their contents on various surfaces, and the smell of the oils was heavy in the air.

The blonde snorted in irritation. "You're bloody Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the hero of the wizarding world," he announced.

There was bitterness in his voice, and I laughed, partly because the statement just seemed so ridiculous, and partly because something deep inside of me was saying that it was true. He grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me.

"Stop acting like an idiot! How could you forget that? You fought a war, defeated Voldemort, then disappeared. The wizarding world is in disarray, we need you again," he insisted.

I gave him a blank look, but I stopped laughing, because his words were beginning to trigger the memories.

"Look, I'm with the Ministry now," he said. "I hate it, but was either join them, or go to rot in Azkaban."

As he spoke, the repressed images flooded my mind. A world full of magic; a castle that was a school; a convicted criminal, my Godfather; a Dark wizard and a war I didn't want to be a part of; friends, acquaintances, classmates, fellow warriors, and people that I pushed aside in order to get what I wanted.

And the, guilt.

I had been avoiding that for so long. It was my fault all those people were dead. I had convinced myself that none of those people mattered, that they all secretly hated or resented me anyway, in order to do what I thought I had to. I had convinced myself that I had to get through the war alone.

How could I have forgotten? I created this little bit of paradise for myself, and made myself believe that all I needed was here; but it wasn't right. I should be in the wizarding world, sorting out the mess the war created. How long had I been gone, anyway? Months? Years? I had completely lost track of time. While I was alone in my little studio, it hadn't seemed necessary; all that was important was escaping.

I fell to my knees before the man that I now knew to be Draco Malfoy. I wanted to cry, to scream, but all that came out was a single wretched sob.

"So, you'll come back?" He asked.

I nodded.


	4. IV: The Hell

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR, and the garden of sin belongs to Bosch (though I'm relatively sure the latter is public domain, as it's 500 years old).

A/N: Originally written for the HP ficathon, 7/15.

Themes and titles taken from Hieronymus Bosch's tryptych. There's a link to the painting in my profile.

Thank you to HPalto87 for beta'ing!

**Downfall**

**IV: The Hell**

Prompt: Beat

I had been gone for nearly three years. How had so much time passed?

The wizarding world was happy to get their lost hero back, for they were in the middle of another war. I was thrown into strategy sessions, training, things I had tried so hard to get away from.

The previous war had left the wizarding world so vulnerable that it was easy for the remaining Death Eaters to band together and rebel. In the time since Voldemort's death, other people had joined them. Their cause had changed, and they now claimed to be protecting the ordinary people against the prosecutions of the Ministry.

When I looked deeper into the situation, I realized the Ministry had become entirely corrupt. Someone had decided at some point that it would be better if the last war was simply erased, as it was the cause of far too much suffering and depression. People were still afraid of Voldemort, so it would be better to simply get rid of his memory entirely. They were slowly Obliviating memories, taking down memorials, and changing entire lives for the purpose of re-creating a productive society. In the process, they had created even more fear. The former Death Eaters were trying to stop all this from happening.

It was all so muddled; intentions that were once good and just had long since been lost, and the sides were unclear. Most people were still just trying to survive day-to-day life.

Some people blamed me. They said if I hadn't left, things would be different. I told them I was just as guilty as everyone else. It was my fault so many people died, because somewhere along the line, I had simply stopped caring. Most refused to believe it. I was supposed to represent all that was good, and I laughed at that. The man I had become was a far cry from the good and innocent boy I had once been. Unfortunately, too many people still associated the good-and-innocent image with my name.

The more I learned about the current state of England's wizarding world, the more I wanted to get out of it. Why did I agree to this in the first place? I wanted desperately to go back to my paintings, my life of solitude. I just couldn't do this. I couldn't lead anyone to war again, or watch more people die. I wanted more than anything to give up, but I couldn't. For some reason, I felt the need to save these people.

The more I worked toward this impossible-seeming goal, the more hopeless it all seemed. It didn't help that I was weakened by my time away. I was out of practice, and I just didn't have the sort of drive I did when I was younger. I had no friends to protect, no hope for a better life, and no raw anger or desire for revenge to run on.

And then, on a night that was all too similar to the one on which I killed Voldemort, it was over. I went into yet another battle, weary and shaken, and simply gave up. I realized how hopeless everything was. I realized that the people I should be fighting for were all dead, and it was my fault.

I dropped to my knees, and waited for the green light to take me.


End file.
